


The Canoe

by gagewhitney



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gagewhitney/pseuds/gagewhitney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let's put it to a challenge," she says, grinning cheekily. "Whoever catches the biggest fish wins."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Canoe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt by lucifers_garden: Andrea and Daryl find an abandoned canoe near a stream and decide to go fishing! What happens next is entirely up to the writer, but I would dearly love some lighthearted banter between these two. Maybe even a competition to see who can haul the biggest fish? I just have this image of Andrea wrangling in a huge trout, and Daryl only catching a small minnow, or something. OH THE HILARITY THAT COULD ENSUE. :D
> 
> (Hope you like, LG!)
> 
> Also: I come from city people. We don't fish, and I've never set foot on a seafaring vessel that wasn't a ferry; therefore, I apologize if any of this sounds a little off in that regard. ;)

Daryl climbs up into the RV to find Andrea pulling fishing equipment out of a small closet.

"Where you going?" he asks, gesturing at the pile by her feet.

"I found a canoe down by the lake," she tells him. "Thought I'd try to catch us some fish for dinner."

"Good idea," he says, nodding his head. "Even I'm getting a little sick of squirrel all the time, to be honest."

A light bulb goes on over her head. "Hey, want to come? I'll teach you how to fish."

He snorts. "I can fish."

"With the crossbow?" she teases.

"Probably," he says. "I'd rather use a fishing rod, though."

She rolls her eyes amusedly. "Maybe you think you can fish. But you never learned from my dad." She smiles sadly at the memory of her father. "Now he was a fisherman. And he taught me almost everything he knew."

"Merle taught me," he says. "And I've seen that son-of-a-bitch catch fish bigger than your head."

She laughs at the image. "Let's put it to a challenge," she says, grinning cheekily. "Whoever catches the biggest fish wins."

"Wins what, exactly?"

She wracks her mind for a moment before shrugging. "I don't know. I'll let you know when I win." She grabs the second rod and holds it out to him.

He snatches it out of her hand. "Oh, it's on, now."

 

 

She shows him the spot she'd found earlier, the old canoe hidden under a dirty blue tarp. It's slightly unkempt looking, but seems to be solid otherwise, and he nods his head in approval.

They stow the fishing gear and carry the canoe to the edge of the water. "Ladies first," he says, gesturing for her to climb in.

With a small smile, she settles herself in the far end of the boat and watches as he pushes it further into the water before hopping aboard. They row out to where the lake appears to be deep enough before putting the oars aside and grabbing for the rods.

"You need me to show you how to tie your lure?" she asks, bent over her task.

He growls under his breath, and she giggles.

"So let me ask you something," she starts. He looks up at her, watching as her fingers deftly work the lure, and waits for her to continue. "I've fished for the group before. If you're so good at it, how come you've never come out with me?"

He shrugs. "You never asked me to before."

"Hmm." She shows him her lure with a wide grin, and he shakes his head. "You should come out with me again. Next time."

"All right." His lure is done, too, and he waggles it at her.

 

 

It's quiet for a while as they wait for the fish to come to them. Not an uncomfortable silence, Andrea thinks, but the companionable kind that's often needed on fishing trips. She listens to the water splashing against the canoe, feels the rocking motion set her at ease. Every once in a while, she glances over at him, watching the sunlight turn his hair a light reddish brown.

Every once in a while, she catches him looking at her, too, and smiles when he quickly turns his head.

"Ah!" he crows suddenly. "Got a bite."

"Ooh," she says, leaning forward. "Let's see!"

He starts reeling the line in, frowning when he gets a look at his catch. "Hmph."

"Oh," she says quietly.

The fish is barely six inches long, but it's thick enough that he doesn't feel too terribly. "Well, not a bad start, I guess."

"I guess," she says.

He narrows his eyes at her as he unhooks his fish and places it into the metal box near his feet. "Just wait. The next one's going to be a monster."

 

 

Half an hour later, there isn't a next one. For Andrea, there's not even a first one, and she's starting to get frustrated.

"Not biting too much today," he finally says. He jerks a thumb at the shore. "Want to head back?"

She glances over at him, an eyebrow quirked. "You in a rush to get back all of a sudden?"

"Not really."

"Then let's not yet," she says. She turns back to the water. "Let's wait a little longer."

He shrugs. "Fine with me."

"You're not winning that easily, Dixon."

 

 

The silence grows boring, especially with no fish to catch, so they start talking, their conversation leading everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

She tells him about her parents and Amy and growing up in Florida. He leaves out a lot of his childhood details, like where he got the scars on his trunk, but fills her in on how he learned to hunt and track and fish in the woods of Georgia.

He's in the middle of telling her the story of when Merle accidentally shot his friend Ray while they were out hunting when she interrupts.

"Whoa!"

"Wasn't too bad," he tells her. "Ray just caught some buckshot in the leg. He –"

"No," she says, suddenly gripping her fishing rod. "Whoa, over here."

"You got something?"

"Yeah." Her brow wrinkles. "I'm actually having a little trouble with this."

"Ha ha," he says sarcastically.

"No. Seriously." There's a flash of panic in her eyes. "If I don't let go, this thing's going to pull me in. And I am not losing this rod."

Her body jerks forward, and he's quickly at her side. "Whoa! Okay, hang on."

"Help," she squeaks.

"I've got you." He wraps his arms around her and puts his hands over hers on the rod. There's a definite pulling at the other end, and he uses all of his strength to gain control.

"Thanks," she breathes. His cheek is pressed against hers, and she doesn't dare move a muscle.

"Probably a tire or something," he grunts.

"It's not a tire."

He smirks. "Could be Nessie."

"Seriously?" she hisses.

"You're questioning sea monsters? Now?"

"You and your mythical creatures." She rolls her eyes. "It's a big-ass fish and you know it."

"We'll see." He shoves his feet against the side of the canoe. "Hang on."

He pulls backward, bringing her with him so that she ends up leaning on his chest, his arms tight around her. Under different circumstances, she thinks, it would be an extremely intimate position. She wonders if Daryl realizes it, too.

For a second, she lets her eyes drift shut, and she can almost imagine him holding her like this as they watch the setting sun, quietly enjoying a nice day and cool breeze on the lake.

"I think I've got it," he says, his mouth next to her ear, breaking her reverie. "Start bringing it in."

She nods and starts cranking the reel. The tension in the line makes it difficult, but she manages, and soon there's a large, wriggling fish visible at the end of the line. "Oh my God!" she cries.

"Shit," he agrees.

He watches as she detaches the fish from the line and holds it up. "Huh?" She grins wide. "Bigger than my head, right?"

She tries not to squish his fish when she places hers in the box.

 

 

After another twenty minutes, during which they catch several smaller fish and Daryl tries and fails to save his pride, they decide it's time to start heading back.

"Hey, don't feel bad," she says, trying to keep from laughing. "I'm sure Carl will appreciate that you caught him his own personal fish."

"Oh, you're very funny," he says. The smirk forming on his face betrays his intended sarcasm.

"Thank you."

"Well," he says, taking another glance at the fish. "Go on. What did you win?"

He's still next to her, and she's back to staring at him, watching the way the setting sun glints in his eyes. Before he can move, she reaches out to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer so she can slant her mouth over his.

It takes him a few shocked moments before he responds eagerly, running his hands up her sides and opening her mouth with his tongue. She moans into his mouth and grabs the lapels on his shirt to bring him closer.

He pulls away after a minute to catch his breath. "That's it?" he asks. "Kissing me, that's what you win?"

"Oh, hell no." She chuckles, and he frowns slightly. "The kiss was just a preview. I plan on claiming my prize later tonight," she says with a grin.

His eyes go wide. "Oh, really?" He stares at her lips. "And I'm just supposed to go along with that, huh?"

She hums and trails her fingers down the front of his shirt. "I guess I could offer you a consolation prize."

"What's that?"

She reaches for his zipper. "How steady do you think this canoe is?"


End file.
